


Keep Christmas Well

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holiday Angst, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jim is a Grinch and Spock, surprisingly, is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Christmas Well

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a line from Dickens’ _A Christmas Carol_ because I lack imagination.

The mistletoe should have been a dead giveaway. 

And the Bûche de Noël for dessert in the officers’ mess. And, now, tiny, multi-colored twinkle lights (!) decorating the starboard side of the observation deck.

“Fucking Christmas,” Jim muttered under his breath as he trudged across the observation deck, his formerly favored short cut to the officer’s mess. The urge to cover his ears to block out the grating strains of “Jingle Bell Rock” being sung in Tellarian was nearly overwhelming. 

“Hey, Captain!” Yeoman Rand said as he passed; he noticed she was attempting to unwind a tangled string of lights that another person on a ladder – Ensign Roberts, Jim thought his name was, from Engineering – was waiting to tack to the wall.

“At ease, Yeoman,” he said to her, not because she was standing at attention, but because she wasn’t and he chose this moment to be irked by this fact. She straightened up immediately, looking chagrined. “These are your duties today?”

“I – um, I got off duty early, sir.”

“In the middle of the day? So the quarterly staff reviews will be distributing themselves to the department heads will they?”

“Already done, sir. Commander Spock gave me a hand with it, so I could –“

“Commander Spock? Do you make it a habit of asking superior officers to do your work for you, then?”

“N-no, sir! He was helping so I could be excused to –”

“Ah, I see – you couldn’t complete your work, so he needed to step in?”

“No, Captain! Never!” 

He regarded her through narrowed eyes and then continued on his way.

Low blood sugar – that was it. He was always snappish when he hadn’t eaten, and he’d skipped breakfast today. He tried to forget Rand’s reddened face and wide eyes as he rounded a corner and headed down the corridor.

When he arrived at the officer’s mess, there was a small knot of people clustered just inside the doorway. They nearly blocked his way through as they all jockeyed for position, their attention on a sign-up PADD affixed to the wall they were all striving to add their names to.

“…the hell?” he said, leaning forward to see what it was they were all so eager to get signed up for. 

“Here, Captain,” Uhura said, handing him a stylus. “You want to sign up?” 

“What for?”

“The Holiday pageant,” she said. “Only three slots left!”

 _“Holiday pageant?”_ he protested. 

“What rock have you been living under? The Christmas Committee is putting on a talent show just before the party on Christmas Eve. You don’t want to miss it – Scotty’s team’s been rehearsing the Hallelujah Chorus for _weeks_.”

Jim may have winced; he definitely backed away. She held the stylus out to him as he did. “You sure?” But he had already retreated out of her reach, intent on getting himself some lunch before he encountered any more holiday revelers. 

\----

“I think the entire ship’s gone insane,” Jim said that night as he arrived in his own quarters after a late conference call with the admiralty, followed by a later dinner.

Spock, who was already there, rose, prepared to spring into action. “I will alert Doctor McCoy immediately to put the medical team on standby.”

“No! Sorry – I meant that metaphorically. Sit down.”

“You are certain? After the encounter with the plant spores on Rigel IV, we can ill afford to procrastinate in our response to a threat.”

Jim held up a hand in a calming gesture. “I’m positive – forgive me my human tendency to exaggerate, it’s been a long day.” He flopped down on the small couch across from the desk and dropped his head back; there was a tension between his shoulder blades that he just couldn’t seem to ease.

“The day has been comprised of 24 standard hours, as per Earth norm,” Spock pointed out.

“Don’t get sassy, you know what I mean,” Jim grumped.

“A personal query, then. What has happened to interfere with your perception of the passage of time?”

Jim sighed – it sounded so stupid when said aloud, but he was with his boyfriend, and if he couldn’t be truthful with him, when could he? Air exploded from his lungs in a mighty sigh. “Christmas,” he said at last in a sepulchral tone. 

He could almost hear the eyebrow. “I do not understand. Is not Christmas a time of joyousness and celebration for many Terrans? Particularly those originating from the North American continent, such as yourself?”

“Well, not all of us.”

“Fascinating. Did you not observe its celebration as a child?”

“We did.”

“I have always assumed that such experiences engender a sense of nostalgic high spirits among humans.”

“They do. Just not for me.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah, well…” Jim let his voice trail off – he didn’t want to discuss this now. He sat up and began to undo his boots. “Anyway, at least I can hole up with you during the worst of it. Can you believe there’s going to be a pageant before the party?” 

“I am aware.”

“The thought makes me itch.” Jim rose, wanting to get rid of the antsy-unpleasant feeling being in a bad mood always brought. “Or maybe I just need a shower.” He pulled his shirts off over his head and threw them into a corner. “Care to join me?”

Spock looked back at the computer screen. “Perhaps later; I have work I would complete before retiring for the day.”

“’Later’? Does that mean I’m gonna need another reason to shower?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Later.”

Jim laughed and toed off his boots, then headed for the bathroom.

\----

Holiday preparations continued ship-wide despite Jim’s desire they did not, and by the morning of December 23rd, it was with supreme effort that Jim ignored the fact that the door to the bridge had been decorated to look like a large present at some point during the last shift. He headed to his chair, where he found a small, festively-wrapped box waiting for him. He sighed as he approached it, casting his eyes around the bridge; everyone was surprisingly pre-occupied and he rolled his eyes. Picking up the gift, he stowed it beneath the chair and took up the PADD that Rand handed to him; he noticed she was very subdued this morning and he felt like a shit for being mean to her. 

“Rand,” he called to her before she could disappear.

“Sir?”

“How did the rest of the decorations go the other day?” 

“Smoothly, sir. The Holiday Fun Committee has really been pulling out all the stops.”

“So it seems. Are you a member? Of this committee? Just thought I’d convey my gratitude to them for contributing so much to crew morale.”

“Oh, no, sir – membership’s apparently very restricted. But I wouldn’t know – I think they’re all officers.”

“Ah. Thank you, carry on.” 

He fired up the PADD as she retreated and began sorting through his messages; there were no less than half a dozen from the Holiday Fun Committee. Jim sighed, scanning the Subject lines – requests for volunteers for not one but _two_ decorations committees, instructions for Secret Santa participants, and rehearsal schedules for the pageant and talent show. He deleted them all without opening any of them, and looked up at the view screen, which remained mercilessly devoid of Klingon Birds of Prey or floating space mines. 

God, he hated Christmas.

\----

“What the hell is this?” Jim asked Bones, who’d joined him for a late lunch that afternoon in the officer’s mess. The good doctor had a small, brightly-wrapped box sitting on his lunch tray as he set it down.

“Must be something from my Secret Santa,” Bones said happily, picking the box up. “I looked away for a second, and there it was.” He scanned the tag. “My mistake – it’s from _your_ Secret Santa.” He thrust the box into Jim’s hands.

“What the hell has gotten into people?” he groused, tossing the thing onto the table.

“I dunno – a bit of holiday spirit?” Bones gave Jim the side-eye. “Oh yeah, I forgot your pathological aversion to all things Christmas. Well, some people like to have fun this time of year, so suck it up, Mr. Grinch, and put on a happy face.” 

Jim scowled. “I don’t suppose you could sedate me for the next 48 hours, could you? It’d really help me out.”

“Ah lighten up. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get you a nice gift – the least you could do is open it, show some appreciation.”

He had a point, Jim could allow that, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. He picked up the gift and stalked from the mess.

\----

_Oh-oh tidings of comfort and joy! Comfort and joy!_

_Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of clay!_

_Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer had a very shiny nose!_

Jim resisted an urge to pass through Deck 3 with both hands over his ears, screaming in agony, and made for the closest turbo lift. It seemed literally everyone on board the ship was either rehearsing for the Holiday Pageant or the round of caroling to be held immediately afterwards. Every turbo lift had a wreath hanging over it, every doorway a sprig of mistletoe. He would wonder where it had all come from – and who had requisitioned it all – if he had the inclination. 

Right now, he just wanted some peace and quiet. 

He hurried off the lift when he’d arrived on the officers’ deck and rushed up the corridor, stopping at last in front of the one doorway where he expected to find some respite, some calm amidst the tacky Christmas storm: Spock’s. He pressed the button requesting entry and heard the voice of his half-Vulcan lover call, “Come!”

What Jim saw inside actually startled a gasp out of him.

The entire room looked like the Christmas department at Macy’s had vomited all over it. Spock’s usual Vulcan-inflected décor had been put away in favor of every Christmas theme imaginable. His desk had been pushed aside to make room for a large, artificial tree festooned with all manner of twinkle lights, garland and tinsel. The branches virtually groaned from the weight of all the ornaments hung upon them. Around the tree was arranged a tiny Christmas village, through which an old-fashioned model train chugged, whistling intermittently. 

Every horizontal space in the room was covered with some sort of Christmas tchotchke, from a hula-dancing Santa wearing a coconut bra and grass skirt as it sang “Merry Christmas Baby”, to an animatronic Rudolph reciting his eponymous poem. Bing Crosby sang “White Christmas,” chestnuts were roasting on a smokeless brazier, and the sole source of illumination in the room was the flickering of advent candles on a hand-carved table the legs of which, from the side, resembled a reindeer’s head.

Kneeling in the midst of it all was Spock, looking completely incongruous in his Starfleet uniform as he fussily arranged the faux snow blanketing the Christmas village. He cocked his head to the side expectantly and sat back on his heels.

“Oh my God, they got you too.” 

“I beg your pardon – to whom are you referring? Who has ‘got’ me?” 

“The Holiday Fun Committee!”

“Your statement is false on four counts, which I shall enumerate. First, it suggests that the Holiday Fun Committee is in the practice of unduly influencing members of this crew: a falsehood. Second, it would also insinuate that I have, in some way, been compromised, which could never be the case. Third, it implies that the committee’s practice is to employ non-consensual methods in its securing of volunteers, which it has not – all crew participation has been voluntary and quite enthusiastically so. Yeoman Rand, I might add, has been invaluable. And finally, your supposition that the committee is a ‘they’ is also false, for it has but one member: myself.”

Jim stared at him. He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. Words failed for several seconds. Finally, he found his voice, “ _You’re the Holiday Fun Commmittee?_ You’re responsible for all the decking of the halls and… _Secret Santas,_ and, and all of it? You, Spock?”

“I am. Until I could gauge the level of involvement for what is, at the end of the day, a voluntary assignment, I thought it prudent to assume the responsibility of planning the crew’s first holiday season together. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised at the level of enthusiasm among the volunteers, and will gladly cede some control of the preparations in coming years.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to get my mind around the fact that my Vulcan first officer is the Holiday Fun Committee.”

“Half-Vulcan, half- _human_ first officer, Jim. I am familiar with the deep significance that the Yuletide has for humans – I did not wish for our mostly-Terran crew to feel deprived.” 

Jim ran his hands through his hair. “This is like some kind of nightmare.”

“Jim, you are rarely given to exaggeration, but your reaction is hardly equal to the situation.” 

Jim tried to mask his unhappiness, but found it impossible; he had assumed he could enjoy a Christmas-free zone with Spock, perhaps they would hang low for most if not all of the next few days, together, and forget the misery this season usually brought him. “I told you I hated Christmas, Spock,” he said quietly.

“I have observed humans bemoan the approach of the holiday season, but such statements are typically overstated and melodramatic in nature. I assumed this was so with you as well.”

“Well, it’s not. I thought you’d understand, but – never mind. Never mind, I’ll go and let you get back to… whatever it is you’re doing.” Jim strode across Spock’s quarters toward the common bathroom between his quarters and Spock’s, and entered his own rooms with a sense of relief.

Not one to back down from an unfinished discussion, Spock, predictably, was right on his heels. “I have caused you distress,” he observed. “This was not my intention.”

“I know that,” Jim replied, facing him and folding his arms. “It’s on me, Spock – I shouldn’t have assumed –“

“You stated your discomfiture with the holiday preparations and I disregarded it. My lack of consideration in this instance is a serious failing, and I –“

Seeing Spock so distressed pushed the tension right out of Jim and he lowered his arms. “You had no way of knowing what my reaction would be.”

Spock crossed the space between them, leaning in close but not touching him. “I would understand the reasons, Jim, if you would tell,” he asked quietly.

At this close proximity, Jim couldn’t look into Spock’s dark eyes, so he stared at his mouth instead. “Remember when I told you I was on Tarsus IV? Well, when it was over – when the Starfleet ships came and rescued all of us, it turned out to be around this time of year, so they threw us kids a Christmas party. 4,000 people were dead, and we were singing carols and decorating gingerbread.

“It was all wrong, Spock, as wrong as the slaughter that had brought them there. It made me sick, physically sick, all that forced gaiety and happiness. Ever since then, Christmas has never been happy for me, I’ve hated it.”

Spock’s mouth opened slightly, but he didn’t speak. His bottom teeth were so white and straight. 

“Normally, I can deal with it,” Jim continued “I get out of town or just spend the day at the movies – keep my dysfunctional bullshit to myself. But I dunno – this year, I can’t get away, and I guess it’s just hit me really hard. I’m sorry.”

Spock took Jim’s hand in one of his. “Do not be.” He raised his other hand and rested his fingertips on Jim’s jaw, pulling his chin up slightly so that Jim had to look at him. “I grieve with thee.”

Jim held his gaze for a few moments. “Thanks for that.” He stepped away, but raised his hand with two fingers extended for a Vulcan kiss that Spock returned. 

“I am due on the observation deck, where I am to direct the dress rehearsal of the Holiday pageant,” Spock informed him regretfully.

“Of course you are.” 

“I have also taken the role of the Angel Gabriel. However, I am certain Doctor McCoy would be willing to take my place. Shall I cancel?”

“No, Spock. You know, I think I just need to be alone tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Spock cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes filled with understanding. “As you wish,” he said, and left the room.

When he was alone, Jim felt no relief, in fact he was more out of sorts than he’d been all week. He paced his room for a while, finding himself at odds with himself and restless. He sat at his terminal and tried to answer his emails, though given the season, much of Starfleet seemed to be closed down and things were slow. He tried to read, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Finally, he decided maybe a hot shower would calm him, so he undressed and headed into the fresher.

Spock’s door was ajar, and he could hear the faint strains of Eartha Kitt singing “Santa Baby” coming through. He wandered through the open door, intending to find the source of the music to shut it off, and as he passed, he really took notice of the decorations in Spock’s quarters. A pillow on the chaise, Jim saw, was hand-embroidered with the 12 Days of Christmas and, he noticed, the thing was signed – by Amanda Grayson. 

The tree was decorated in what Jim could only label a homey way, the ornaments an eclectic mixture, and if Jim wasn’t mistaken, were souvenirs from many planets. One of them hanging at eye level caught his eye – Baby’s First Christmas, it said, and it was obviously homemade. Beside it was a beautifully hand-blown crystal representation of the Vulcan IDIC symbol, beneath that a tiny snow globe inside of which the Vulcan city of Shi’kahr was improbably covered by a dusting of snow. Jim couldn’t resist tapping it to make the flakes fly.

He moved on to the desk, pushed up against the wall, intending to stop the music playback on Spock’s computer, and noticed that beside it sat a framed picture of a small boy, perhaps three years of age. The bowl cut and pointed ears made it obvious to Jim who it was; the fact Spock was dressed as the Little Drummer Boy, Amanda as Mrs. Claus beside him, made him almost gasp in surprise.

Jim straightened up as the realization hit him that all of the decorations had to be family heirlooms or had some other sentimental origin. Clearly, Christmas had been an important part of Spock’s childhood, and Spock’s affinity for what the crew would respond to was one borne of tradition and intuition rather than the cold logic Jim had assumed.

The fact that Spock had used what little personal storage space he was afforded aboard the ship to store all of this was not lost on Jim either. Christmas clearly meant a lot to Spock, and not only was it his ongoing tradition, it was a way of honoring the mother he’d lost when Vulcan died. 

He suddenly felt ashamed, like his outburst had somehow diminished Spock’s own experiences, cheapened them. Turning, he left the music playing and took his shower. Later, he fell asleep before he heard Spock come back.

\----

The following morning, December 24, Jim stood before the door of their adjoining bathroom and knocked, waiting for Spock to let him in.

“Come in,” Spock called.

When he entered, Jim saw that Spock had been disassembling the holiday riot in his rooms; most of what had been in the larger part of the room had already been packed away, and he was in the midst of wrapping each ornament for the tree in protective plastic before stowing them within a large box filled with small, divided compartments, apparently purpose-made for their storage.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked.

“I am putting the decorations away – that should be very obvious,” Spock said.

“But why?”

“They have caused you upset – you are more important to me than the sentiment I feel in the presence of these objects.”

“Spock, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide all this stuff away because of me – they mean a lot to you or you wouldn’t have put them up.”

“You mean a lot to me as well, _ashayam_.”

“But you’ve kept them –all this time! They’re a part of you, aren’t they?”

Spock nodded. “Christmas was very important to my mother. For the first four years of my life, my father was posted on Earth. Christmas was a special time, and though the celebration was sentimental and illogical, my father indulged his wife and encouraged her to celebrate it in the house. When we returned to Vulcan, she continued to celebrate it, though in a much more subdued fashion, appropriate to Vulcan. Still, as my father traveled across the Federation, he always brought her a new ornament for her collection. 

“When I left Vulcan, she asked if I would take some of them with me – her collection was far greater than this – and knowing it would please her, I agreed. I confess, I derive some enjoyment and satisfaction having them with me – I had thought the memories of my mother would be too painful, but these things have proven to be a comfort.”

“They’re special, Spock – you have to keep them out.”

Spock gazed at Jim for a long moment and then nodded. “Very well.”

Jim looked sheepish for a moment. “You know, just the fact that you’d put all of this away – these things that have such significance for you – it means a lot to me. And last night, I had some time to do some thinking and – well, if these things make you happy, then I don’t mind. Who knows, maybe one day they’ll make me happy too.

“Don’t get me wrong – it’s not like I’ll be anyone’s Secret Santa anytime soon, but I can make an effort, you know?”

It was Spock’s turn to look sheepish.

“What?” Jim asked.

“I was your ‘Secret Santa,’” Spock confessed, the tips of his ears turning a little green. “I assumed you would be too busy to participate, so I took the responsibility for your gifts upon myself.”

It was Jim’s turn to blush. “Those were from you? Aw, I’m afraid I conveniently lost them.”

“And I have found them.” Spock went to his desk and pulled a handful of wrapped packages from a drawer. “It would honor me if you would accept these, Jim,” he said, handing them over.

Jim couldn’t help but smile – Spock looked so earnest. He went over to the chaise and sat down. “What’s this?” he said as he eased the paper off of a small, cube-shaped box. 

Spock sat down beside him. “It is a replica of the Enterprise, for your mantel. It caught my eye when we were on Starbase 12 – the workmanship and attention to fine detail is truly exquisite.”

Jim had to agree; he peered into the main viewport, wondering if there was a tiny bridge inside – and there was!

“This is really great, Spock.” The next gift was in a small bag with decorative, metallic-sheen tissue poking out of the top that he pulled out unceremoniously. “Socks?”

“Thick socks,” Spock qualified. “To keep your feet warm in the night.”

“But that’s what you’re for.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Jim grinned and turned his attention to the final gift, easing the paper off of it carefully to reveal the item within – a Christmas tree ornament. “’Our First Christmas’?” he read, and was about to make a joke when he realized that one of the pair of embracing cherubs that made up the piece had pointed ears and a little dark bowl cut; the other was a human, though its gender was not immediately apparent. 

“Did you have this made?” Jim asked.

“Negative. It belonged to my mother – my father had it made for her when they were first married.”

“I somehow can’t imagine Sarek doing something this sentimental,” Jim said.

“You would do well not to the next time you seem him, I think,” Spock observed, but before he could say anything else, Jim took his face between his hands and kissed him, long and deep. 

“It means a lot that you would give me something of your mother’s,” Jim whispered to him when they’d parted.

“Even if it is a Christmas ornament?”

“Even so.” 

They settled back against the chaise in each other’s arms, comfortable. After several moments, Spock spoke, his voice quiet, “Did you never have a happy Christmas as a child?”

“Oh, I did. When I was little. Whenever my Mom was off-world, which was the case most years – her parents would spoil me and Sam rotten for the entire week between Christmas and New Year’s. And I mean _rotten_. There’d be non-stop ice skating on the pond out back, horse-drawn sleighs, eating cookies until we were sick with it – the whole nine yards.” He smiled despite himself, remembering. “This one time I overheard my Mom giving them hell for it, and you know what my Nana said?”

Spock raised an eyebrow encouragingly.

“She said, ‘Winnie, we are exercisin’ our God-given right to spoil our grandbabies and you nor anyone is goin’ to take that away!’” Jim’s impression of his Nana was rusty, but he thought he got the accent right. “’We’re helpin’ those chil’ren make happy memories, and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!’”

“No, indeed,” Spock agreed. 

After another short silence, Jim asked, “Will we make happy memories, Spock?”

“We already have them, do we not?” Spock replied. “Which demonstrates a clear facility for the task. I am 98.76% confident in projecting immediate success.”

“Have I told you I love you today yet?”

“Indeed no, though it is quite early. Perhaps you will show me?”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!”

\----

Thank you for your time.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr @rabidchild67, I hope you'll consider following me there.


End file.
